Living Solo


When I decided to get a one-bedroom, I wasn’t really sure what to expect. I saw myself potentially loving it and potentially preferring death. Turns out, it’s definitely a love/hate relationship.

+On the one hand, I can sing Christmas carols in August in my underwear while cooking pasta and no one can hear me (hopefully) or therefore judge me.

-On the other hand, I talk to things…that I shouldn’t talk to. And it’s not like I have a pet. So what I’m saying is I talk to my furniture, my food, my appliances, my clothes…today, this came out of my mouth: “Hey little fridgy fridge, what’s crackin’? You cold? I’m cold.” Yeah, I should probably look into getting a kitten.

+However, I get to decide where everything goes, I decided to paint my furniture all different colors—every piece of my place screams ME, which is pretty cool. I even have yellow dishes.

-I get so damn bored and lonely. I stare at walls. I call people. This has never happened before…I usually just walk into the next room and bug my roommate. Being bored together is not being bored at all. The last minute, “C’mon, let’s go to the gym!” or “Wanna go get ice cream?” or “I need groceries, wanna come?” Man, I miss those!

+On that note—I think I’m actually more productive living alone. No distractions. Just you and your humble little abode.

-If someone breaks in and tries to rape/murder/torture/kidnap me…there will be no one here to help me kick his ass or call 911. So that’s cool.

+I don’t have to share my food or my bathroom space and I don’t have to do laundry around anyone else’s laundry doing!

-There is no one here who shares their food with me.

+Any mess that is made is MINE and therefore it is not a mess, it is a rough area that is under construction.

-No one to help clean, carry things, or kill bugs?! I’m screwed.

What I need is a really cool neighbor. Or a boyfriend. Ok, fine, I’ll settle for lots of new teacher friends who like to drink.

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